Heart of Darkness

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“One evening as I was lying flat on the deck of my steamboat, I heard
voices approaching—and there were the nephew and the uncle strolling along
the bank. I laid my head on my arm again, and had nearly lost myself in a
doze, when somebody said in my ear, as it were: ‘I am as harmless as a
little child, but I don’t like to be dictated to. Am I the manager—or am I
not? I was ordered to send him there. It’s incredible.’ ... I became aware
that the two were standing on the shore alongside the forepart of the
steamboat, just below my head. I did not move; it did not occur to me to
move: I was sleepy. ‘It is unpleasant,’ grunted the uncle.
‘He has asked the Administration to be sent there,’ said the other, ‘with
the idea of showing what he could do; and I was instructed accordingly. Look
at the influence that man must have. Is it not frightful?’ They both agreed
it was frightful, then made several bizarre remarks: ‘Make rain and fine
weather—one man—the Council—by the nose’—bits of absurd sentences that got
the better of my drowsiness, so that I had pretty near the whole of my wits
about me when the uncle said, ‘The climate may do away with this difficulty
for you. Is he alone there?’ ‘Yes,’ answered the manager; ‘he sent his
assistant down the river with a note to me in these terms: “Clear this poor
devil out of the country, and don’t bother sending more of that sort. I had
rather be alone than have the kind of men you can dispose of with me.” It
was more than a year ago. Can you imagine such impudence!’ ‘Anything since
then?’ asked the other hoarsely. ‘Ivory,’ jerked the nephew; ‘lots of
it—prime sort—lots—most annoying, from him.’ ‘And with that?’ questioned the
heavy rumble. ‘Invoice,’ was the reply fired out, so to speak. Then silence.
They had been talking about Kurtz.

“One evening I was lying on the deck of my steamboat and I heard voices
nearby. It was the station manager and his uncle, the leader of the
expedition. I was drifting off to sleep when I heard the manager say, ‘I am
as harmless as a child, but I don’t like to be told what to do. I’m the
manager, right? I was ordered to send him there. It’s unbelievable.’ I
realized that they were standing beside my boat, just below my head. I was
too tired to move. ‘It’s unpleasant,’ grunted the uncle. ‘He asked the
Administration to be sent there,’ said the manager, ‘because he wants to
show them what he can do. And they ordered me to help him. He must have so
much influence. It’s almost scary, isn’t it?’ They agreed it was scary. I
was drifting off to sleep, so I only caught bits of the next few sentences.
‘Make rain and fine weather . . . one man . . . the Council . . . by the
nose,’ and so on. Hearing these strange bits of conversation woke me up.
Then I heard the uncle clearly say, ‘The climate may solve your problems for
you. Is he alone out there?’ ‘Yes,’ the manager replied. ‘He sent his
assistant down the river to my station here with a sealed note. It said,
“Send this devil home and don’t send me any more men like him. I’d rather be
alone than have to deal with the kind of men you can send me.” That was more
than a year ago. What nerve!’ ‘Have you heard anything from him since then?’
the uncle asked. ‘He sends ivory,’ spat the manager. ‘Lots of the very best
ivory. And invoices for it.’ They were talking about Kurtz.

“I was broad awake by this time, but, lying perfectly at ease, remained
still, having no inducement to change my position.’ How did that ivory come
all this way?’ growled the elder man, who seemed very vexed. The other
explained that it had come with a fleet of canoes in charge of an English
half-caste clerk Kurtz had with him; that Kurtz had apparently intended to
return himself, the station being by that time bare of goods and stores, but
after coming three hundred miles, had suddenly decided to go back, which he
started to do alone in a small dugout with four paddlers, leaving the
half-caste to continue down the river with the ivory. The two fellows there
seemed astounded at anybody attempting such a thing. They were at a loss for
an adequate motive. As to me, I seemed to see Kurtz for the first time. It
was a distinct glimpse: the dugout, four paddling savages, and the lone
white man turning his back suddenly on the headquarters, on relief, on
thoughts of home—perhaps; setting his face towards the depths of the
wilderness, towards his empty and desolate station. I did not know the
motive. Perhaps he was just simply a fine fellow who stuck to his work for
its own sake. His name, you understand, had not been pronounced once. He was
‘that man.’ The half-caste, who, as far as I could see, had conducted a
difficult trip with great prudence and pluck, was invariably alluded to as
‘that scoundrel.’ The ‘scoundrel’ had reported that the ‘man’ had been very
ill—had recovered imperfectly.... The two below me moved away then a few
paces, and strolled back and forth at some little distance. I heard:
‘Military post—doctor—two hundred miles—quite alone now—unavoidable
delays—nine months—no news—strange rumours.’ They approached again, just as
the manager was saying, ‘No one, as far as I know, unless a species of
wandering trader—a pestilential fellow, snapping ivory from the natives.’
Who was it they were talking about now? I gathered in snatches that this was
some man supposed to be in Kurtz’s district, and of whom the manager did not
approve. ‘We will not be free from unfair competition till one of these
fellows is hanged for an example,’ he said. ‘Certainly,’ grunted the other;
‘get him hanged! Why not? Anything—anything can be done in this country.
That’s what I say; nobody here, you understand, here, can
endanger your position. And why? You stand the climate—you outlast them all.
The danger is in Europe; but there before I left I took care to—’ They moved
off and whispered, then their voices rose again. ‘The extraordinary series
of delays is not my fault. I did my best.’ The fat man sighed. ‘Very sad.’
‘And the pestiferous absurdity of his talk,’ continued the other; ‘he
bothered me enough when he was here. “Each station should be like a beacon
on the road towards better things, a centre for trade of course, but also
for humanizing, improving, instructing.” Conceive you—that ass! And he wants
to be manager! No, it’s—’ Here he got choked by excessive indignation, and I
lifted my head the least bit. I was surprised to see how near they
were—right under me. I could have spat upon their hats. They were looking on
the ground, absorbed in thought. The manager was switching his leg with a
slender twig: his sagacious relative lifted his head. ‘You have been well
since you came out this time?’ he asked. The other gave a start. ‘Who? I?
Oh! Like a charm—like a charm. But the rest—oh, my goodness! All sick. They
die so quick, too, that I haven’t the time to send them out of the
country—it’s incredible!’ ‘Hm’m. Just so,’ grunted the uncle. ‘Ah! my boy,
trust to this—I say, trust to this.’ I saw him extend his short flipper of
an arm for a gesture that took in the forest, the creek, the mud, the
river—seemed to beckon with a dishonouring flourish before the sunlit face
of the land a treacherous appeal to the lurking death, to the hidden evil,
to the profound darkness of its heart. It was so startling that I leaped to
my feet and looked back at the edge of the forest, as though I had expected
an answer of some sort to that black display of confidence. You know the
foolish notions that come to one sometimes. The high stillness confronted
these two figures with its ominous patience, waiting for the passing away of
a fantastic invasion.

“I was wide awake by now, but I was very comfortable lying there, so I
didn’t move. ‘How did he send all that ivory to you?’ asked the uncle, who
seemed irritated about it. The manager explained that Kurtz sent the ivory
downriver in a fleet of canoes led by his clerk. Kurtz had initially
intended to return with them, but after traveling the first 300 miles, he
decided to go back. He did so even though he was almost out of supplies at
his station. He took four natives with him to paddle the boat and sent the
clerk and his ivory on their way. The manager and his uncle seemed amazed
that anyone would do such a thing. They couldn’t figure out what Kurtz was
thinking. I felt like I saw Kurtz for the first time. I had a clear image of
the lone white man turning his back on his headquarters and paddling towards
his empty station with four savages. I didn’t know why he did it. Perhaps he
was just a good man who stuck to his work. They hadn’t said his name—they
only called him ‘that man.’ His clerk, who had completed a difficult
journey, was referred to as ‘that scoundrel.’ The ‘scoundrel’ said that the
‘man’ had been very sick and was only partially recovered. The two men below
me moved a few paces away. I heard, ‘Military post...doctor...two hundred
miles...quite alone now...unavoidable delays...nine months...no
news...strange rumors.’ They passed near my boat again, just as the manager
was saying, ‘No one, as far as I know, unless it was a wandering trader
stealing ivory from the natives.’ Who were they talking about now? I
gathered from the bits I overheard that they were referring to some man who
was supposed to be in Kurtz’s district. The manager didn’t like him. ‘We’ll
keep having unfair competition until we hang one of those men as an
example,’ he said. ‘Absolutely,’ grunted the other. ‘Hang him! Why not? You
can do anything you want in this country. That’s what I say. Nobody
here can challenge you, because you can stand the
climate and they can’t. You outlast them all. The danger is back in Europe,
but before I left I—’ They moved away, whispering, but then their voices
rose again. ‘The craziest delays. Not my fault. I did my best. And the worst
part is that he was such a pain when he was here. He was always going on
about how “each station should be a light on the road toward civilization as
well as a trading post, a center for humanizing and teaching.” Can you
believe it? That jackass. And he wants to be the manager! No, it’s—’ He was
too angry to continue. I looked up and saw that they were right next to me.
I could have spat on their hats. They were staring at the ground, lost in
thought. The manager was brushing his leg with a twig. His uncle asked,
‘Have you been feeling well since you came out this time?’ The other jumped.
‘Who? Me? Oh, yes. I’m charmed. But the others—God, they’re all sick. They
die so quickly that I don’t have time to send them out of the country. It’s
unbelievable.’ ‘Right,’ grunted the uncle. ‘Right. Leave it to this,’ he
said, waving his short flipper of an arm at the forest, the creek, the mud,
and the river. It was like he was calling to the evil hidden in the dark
forest, calling it out to bring death to the station. It was so upsetting
that I jumped up and looked at the forest like I expected it to answer. You
have silly thoughts like that sometimes, I’m sure. But the still jungle
remained still, as if it were waiting for the men to leave.